Surgical Precision
by Maureen3
Summary: Have you ever wondered why Karasu's hair is so damn bad at full power?


Title: Surgical Precision

Author: Maureen

Rating: PG 

Feedback: *Of course* I want feedback! Geez! greek_amazon@yahoo.com

Warnings: HA! Sorry, nothing scandalous here, with the exception of Karasu's hair.

Summary: Have you ever wondered why Karasu's hair is so damn bad at full power? I should note that this is only the case in the anime…. It looks fine in the manga. ^^

Author's notes: I hate his hair! (Can you tell?) It's cool when it's black but then it turns hideous!! I couldn't resist. Sorry. This is poorly written, too.

Genre: Comedy, No pairing.

Dedications: To Skylar. Yes, I know you hate him.

* * * 

Karasu stood outside the small building, the wind whipping his hair and coat about him, playing in the wind. Karasu himself remained utterly motionless, simply staring at the small establishment in front of him. He could never remember once when he had relied on another's services, let alone paid for them. But Togoro had told him that for once, he should take an interest in personal hygiene, rather than just letting his hair grow until it was longer than his actual body.

Togoro said it was unimpressive how he kept tripping over his own hair.

Stupid Togoro.

Not like *he* had a good haircut. In fact, his hair was downright stupid.

But, unfortunately, he had a point. Tripping over his hair while he faced opponents in the dark martial arts tournament would be bad form.

This one seemed particularly important to Togoro. Something about some guests of his.

Karasu sighed and stepped forward, towards the barber shop. The wind whipped his incredibly long hair around, between his feet, and he tripped over it. He fell flat on his face, his preventive mask hitting the pavement.

Hard.

"Ow," he mumbled, his nose pressed to the cement.

Ok, so Togoro was right. His hair was way to long. He stood, dusted himself off and walked, carefully, into the barber's shop.

An over-makeup-ed receptionist stopped chewing her gum.

"Yeah, ya got an appointment?"

"No," replied Karasu shortly.

"Well then, ya'll haf ta wait 'til we get an opening." She cracked her gum, gesturing to the waiting area.

"Ya can wait there." Karasu gave the receptionist a sideways glance, before sitting down. He picked up a hair magazine and leafed through it.

There was a picture of a woman with bright purple hair which extended in two cones off the side of her head.

Karasu contemplated getting that haircut, but came to the conclusion that the cones would be too hard to maintain.

"Yo! Karashoe! We got an opening!" yelled the receptionist, unnessicarily loudly.

"KaraSU," he grumbled, walking to her.

"Yeah, whatever. I don't care. I'm overworked and underpaid," she explained, taking a sip from her slurpee, before returning to filing her nails.

"Jaques will cut your hair," she said off-handily.

Suddenly, Karasu was seized at the front of his vest by a short, black-haired man. The little man dragged Karasu through the barber shop and shoved him into a chair. The little man spun the chair, so that Karasu was facing the mirror.

He watched as the little man examined his hair, running his fingers through the gleaming black waves of it.

"You have nice hair," he told Karasu, who smiled slightly behind his mask.

"But you take hideous care of it!" 

The smile fell from Karasu's face.

"When was the last time you cut your hair?" Jaques demanded. Karasu's eyes darted around. The last trim he got was nearly three hundred years ago. He couldn't exactly tell this human that.

"Uh..."

"_Well??_" demanded Jaques, impatient.

"3... Years... Ago," Karasu lied. Karasu saw the little man smack his head hopelessly.

"That explains it. You fool!" he exclaimed, smacking Karasu upside the head. Karasu growled and struggled not to kill the hairdresser.

"You must get a trim every six weeks, or you will suffer the horror of split ends!" exclaimed Jaques, as he began to brush Karasu's hair.

"I asked for a trim, not a lecture," Karasu glared at the small man via the mirror.

"Well!" huffed Jaques, and began to trim Karasu's hair in silence. Karasu watched hopelessly as his glorious hair fell in clumps on the linoleum tile.

Soon, his hair reached barely past his elbows.

"Stop. This is the length I want it," Karasu told the hairdresser.

"Are you sure? I think a pixie cut would look marvellous on--"

"I'm sure," growled Karasu.

"Fine. Let me at least wash your hair."

"Very well," mumbled Karasu, following the little man towards the hair-washing sinks.

"Remove your mask," Jaques said off-handily.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I need it. For your sake," explained Karasu.

"Was that a threat?" huffed Jaques.

"No. It's a fact."

"Humph," scoffed Jaques, throwing his head back. "I find it resentful that you would wear a surgical mask in my establishment."

"SURGICAL MASK???" Karasu practically shrieked, leaping to his feet, and glaring down, wide-eyed at Jaques.

"Surgical mask?!? This is *_NOT*_ a surgical mask!"

"Oh really. Then what is it?" Demanded Jaques, believing that he had called Karasu's bluff. Karasu was about to explain how it held his power in check before he snapped his neck. Then Karasu remembered where he was, and lied through his teeth.

"It's a..." he sighed, defeated. "...Surgical mask."

"Hm. I thought so."

"I would like to keep me ...surgical mask... on."

"It is insulting to me."

"So?"

"It implies that this establishment is unclean."

"So? Maybe it is."

Jaques' eyes bulged out in anger, and his hands balled into fists at his side.

"Remove your mask," he growled through gritted teeth.

"No."

Jaques shrieked and pushed Karasu down into the shampooing chair. Placing a hand on Karasu's forehead, he harshly snapped his head back into the scalding water of the sink.

Karasu felt the small man massaging his scalp, albeit angrily. The massaging stopped and Karasu felt a warm liquid being poured through his hair. It made his scalp tingle, almost a slight pain.

Karasu wasn't sure, but he didn't think shampoo was supposed to do that. Karasu suddenly felt an ominous apprehension tying a knot in his stomach. He looked at Jaques out of the corner of his eye.

"What did you do?" inquired Karasu, nervous for the first time since he could remember.

Jaques smiled evilly, stepping into Karasu's line of sight.

"What do you think?" he purred, his eyes glinting daggers, before he yanked Karasu's mask off his face.

"It's called peroxide, clean-boy," he said, tossing the mask aside. Karasu snapped his head out of the sink.

"YOU BASTARD!" he yelled, his mouth already sucking in the energy that transformed into a deadly weapon.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Karasu, his hair hanging in a wet, twisted mass at his back. He watched as Jaques' eyes shone with fear as he watched Karasu hover above him.

"You know Jaques, I like you. You've got spunk," Karasu declared, truly impressed by the little man.

"Oh," said Jaques, unsure. "Good."

"I kill things I like," Karasu said coldly.

"That's dumb," were Jaques' last words before the entire barber shop exploded, killing all within, except Karasu, the source of the explosion. The smoke of the explosion caused Karasu's now-peroxide-blonde hair to dry and crimp. It frizzed up around his head like a lion's mane. Catching a glimpse of himself in a shard of shattered mirror, he realised how hideous his hair looked. He lifted a brush from the rubble and did his best to flatten it to a reasonable level. 

It still frizzed out and the unfinished peroxide job made his hair look yellow.

He looked bad.

All because of a stupid little hair dresser who got the best of him. In order not to lose face, he'd have to pretend that this is what he intended. 

Sighing, he picked up his 'surgical mask'. Because of this hideous haircut he'd be regarded as having bad taste. What a horrible fate. He replaced his surgical mask. 

When he did, his hair returned to it's natural raven-black, hanging straight at his back.

At first he didn't understand. 

He removed his mask.

His hair went blonde and frizzed.

He replaced the mask.

His hair changed back, hanging limply.

Blonde.

Black.

Blonde.

Black.

It clearly was only blonde when he was at full power. That must mean only his demon form's hair was dyed.

Now he had one more reason to keep his mask on.

He loathed his hair.

He was never taking Togoro's advice again.

~Fin~


End file.
